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The other day, our dog was sitting on the sofa with me, as I watched the news, and she started biting at her belly. I noticed, but didn’t think anything of it . . . until, that is, she did it for the third time. I immediately started looking for fleas through the sparse whitish fur on her stomach, even though I didn’t expect to find anything. After all, she’s been on Frontline since spring.

In the 2-1/2 years that we’ve had Maddie, she’s never had fleas. And that’s saying a lot, considering that she goes into the tall weeds along the back of our lot several times a day to chase her Frisbee. (Hey, I never said I’m any good at throwing a Frisbee.) Before that, we had a Bichon, who never had fleas in 13 years, and my son’s Cockapoo got fleas only once. But we didn’t have Frontline back then.

Well, to my horror, I saw two fleas on our dog that night. I still can't believe that I was actually able to catch one with my fingers. But as I tried to squish it, the little vampire jumped out of my grip and onto the family room carpet. Convinced that it was a female who by then was giving birth to hundreds of babies beneath my feet, I shrieked for my husband. When I told him that Maddie had fleas, he didn’t say anything. I knew instantly, by the look on his face, that he had decided to skip her October Frontline application.

Sometimes I think he’d do almost anything to save a few dollars, and it makes me crazy. He said he didn’t realize that October is probably the worst month for fleas, since they’re looking for a warm-blooded host to take them through the winter. Fortunately for him, the flea bath he gave Maddie actually worked. Yesterday, the groomer found only one dead flea on her.

Life is never boring with this man. But I think when we downsize out of this house, I’m suggesting a duplex or adjoining condo units!

I just watched The View and came away incensed, only this time it wasn’t because of the incredibly irritating Elisabeth Hasselbeck. No, it was my home state, Michigan, that made me crazy today. First we have an Assistant Attorney General, Andrew Shervill, who stalked and harassed a university student leader simply because he’s gay. (Incredibly, Shervill has not been fired to date.) And now, mere weeks after the Shervill debacle, another brilliant State employee, Tyra Kahn, has surfaced.

One of the “Hot Topics” on The View was about a woman in Ann Arbor who advertised on her church’s bulletin board for a “Christian roommate.” As a result, Tyra Kahn, an obvious brain trust in Michigan’s Department of Civil Rights, actually filed a complaint, citing this woman for discrimination. WTF?!

Apparently, Kahn doesn’t know that the federal housing laws have absolutely nothing to do with selecting a roommate. Wake up woman! A roommate is in your home, in your face! You have the right to choose with whom you live. And because it’s your home, you can put whatever restrictions you want on the prospective roommate.

Would someone please give Ms. Kahn a job she can handle? These days, I’m almost ashamed to say I’m from Michigan. Maybe the State should start requiring intelligence tests and psychological evaluations for all new hires. And, while the HR people are at it, they should examine a lot of the existing employees, as well. We don’t need any more ridiculous crap like this.

I’m sitting here mourning the home we just sold, even though I pushed my husband to agree to list it. It was definitely the right thing to do, because there’s no way we used it enough to justify the cost. And I’ve never been a two-house person – it’s hard enough for me to keep one under control. It’s what I wanted, but this is turning out to be really painful for me.

The house is in Boyne City, Michigan, a truly charming little town that’s situated on beautiful Lake Charlevoix in northwestern Michigan. The house, which we built just over 10 years ago, has a great view of the lake. And it’s in an idyllic setting, across the street from a park in a newer neighborhood of lovely 1940s-style homes, with big porches and lots of character.

Initially, we planned on living there in retirement. My husband, who hates the cold, envisioned being there in the summer and somewhere in the south during the winter. I love winter, so I would’ve stayed in Boyne all year and visited him for a few weeks in February. But after a couple of years, I realized that I couldn’t live that far away from a major city. I would’ve been starved for all the things I love doing in the Detroit metro area.

Knowing that, I started lobbying to sell the house five or six years ago, when my husband was excitedly proclaiming that we could make a lot of money on it, based on the market at the time. But he loved being up there and wouldn’t even consider selling. I worried because much of the real estate in northern Michigan is owned by people connected to the auto industry, which was teetering on the brink back then. Now, of course, it’s a disaster. House prices have fallen by as much as half in Michigan, and it’ll be years before property values, especially second homes, recover. So we’re taking a substantial loss.

But I expected that. What I didn’t expect is that it would sell so quickly. It’s taken well over a year for some properties to sell in our little development. So I figured we’d still be using the house next spring and maybe even next summer. When the realtor called us with the offer, it hit me like a lightning bolt. I hadn’t realized just how unprepared I was to let go of that delicious retreat. Be careful what you ask for, right?

A good friend of mine sent me this Helen Keller quote:

"When one door of happiness closes, another one opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which had opened up for us...."

She said not to stare at Boyne City too long. And she’s right. That was a lovely chapter in our lives. But maybe now it’s time to relax, with fewer responsibilities and concerns about the house, especially when we weren’t there. And we won’t feel compelled to spend all our free time there, anymore. So it’ll be okay, I say, in an effort to convince myself. I’ll get over this loss, because, after all, it didn’t make sense for me to begin with. But for right now, it’s tougher than I’d ever imagined it could be.